


no. he's a pirate

by devyn_nichole



Category: The Dark Artifices Series - Cassandra Clare, The Shadowhunter Chronicles - Cassandra Clare
Genre: AND THIS WAS BORN, Also slow updates, Alternate Universe, Kinda, M/M, Multi, and i thought of kit in a corset, and jaime is jack sparrow, basically kit is elizabeth, beware of bad writing, does this count as an potc au????, i had the idea while watching curse of the black pearl, its a complicated timeline, potc au, there also may be plot holes, theres gonna be more characters so i'll tag them as they come up in later chapters, this is so weird and stupid but its my baby be nice, ty is will, u have no idea how long i've been working on this, whatever idc
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-16
Updated: 2020-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:41:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23177872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/devyn_nichole/pseuds/devyn_nichole
Summary: The sword felt right in Ty's hand, like they always seemed to. And even though he was already cringing at the noises around him, clashing metal and wounded cries, adrenaline surged through his veins at the prospect of battle. There was no denying it anymore:Ty was a pirate.
Relationships: Tiberius Blackthorn/Kit Rook
Comments: 8
Kudos: 29





	no. he's a pirate

**Author's Note:**

> hello unfortunate people who landed on this hot mess of a fic. how're y'all doin??? so some disclaimers: both kit and ty are 18 in this fic, so if anyone reads something they don't like they can't accuse me of things (if you know you know). we know how touchy some people in the fandom are. also i will be using some characters and dialogue straight from the movie. if u've seen the movie u'll know what is from the movie and what's not. different plotlines and the like will be taken out and added as needed in the story. i replaced Governor Swann with Jem and instead of Commodore Norrington i just used a generic shadowhunter name and now he's Commodore James Pontmercy. pls be nice lmao this is my first (posted) chapter fic and i'm v v sensitive. more disclaimers and such in the notes as they apply in later chapters  
> I don NOT own ANYTHING from The Shadowhunter Chronicles OR Pirates of the Carribean.

“ _Drink up, me hearties, yo ho_.” 

Eleven year-old Christopher Herondale’s voice is small but melodious; the crew sometimes says it reminds them of the voices of faeries. He looks over the water, hoping despite the thick fog that he might see glimpses of the mermaids the crew whispers legends about late at night, when Christopher sneaks out of his room to see them. He can’t say for sure if he believes that they are true, but he _wants_ to. It wasn’t like he hadn’t ever seen stranger things before, at the Shadow Market in Tortuga. 

As he sings, the song from deep in his memories falling from his lips, his voice carries across the deck despite the wind and waves crashing against the ship. “ _We kidnap and ravage and don’t give a hoot. Drink up, me hearties, yo ho. Yo ho, yo ho, a pirate’s life for me. We extort, we pilfer, we filch and sack. Drink up-”_

Christopher gasps as a large hand falls on his shoulder. He whirls around to face the person, his voice faltering and dying. 

The man is short and stocky, with a rough dark blonde beard and sailor’s clothing. Mr. Gibbs. His usually kind face is clouded with fear. When he speaks it’s in a hushed, warning tone. 

“Best be quiet, mister. Cursed pirates sail these waters. You don’t want to bring them down on us, now, do you?”

Christopher can’t find the words to respond. He stares back at the man open-mouthed and shocked, until another, more familiar voice cuts through. 

“Mr. Gibbs, that’ll do,” Lieutenant Pontmercy scolds calmly. 

The crew member steps toward the Lieutenant almost challengingly. “He was singin’ about pirates. Bad luck to be singin’ about pirates with us mired in this unnatural fog. Mark my words.”

“Consider them marked.” The Lieutenant jerks his head somewhere towards the right in a dismissive gesture. “On your way.”

Mr. Gibbs takes the dismissal, muttering something about ‘boneheaded naval officers’ as he goes. 

Christopher watches him leave, a little sadly, then turns to Lieutenant Pontmercy. “I think it’d be rather exciting to meet a pirate.” He had dreamt of a pirate adventure his entire life, of daring acts and swordfights. 

Lieutenant Pontmercy smiles quickly and a bit sourly. “Think again, Mr. Herondale.” He walks up the short steps to stand beside Christopher. “Vile and dissolute creatures, the lot of them. I intend to see to it that any man who sails under a pirate flag or wears a pirate brand gets what he deserves.” He smiles grimly down at Christopher. “A short drop and a sudden stop.” 

Drawing a blank, Christopher looks over at Mr. Gibbs for clarification. The crewman mimes someone hanging by the neck, tongue hanging from his mouth almost comically. Christopher gulps, feeling his stomach drop a bit. He turns to the sound of footsteps hurrying up the stairs, finding Governor Carstairs behind him.

“Lieutenant Pontmercy,” Governor Carstairs says quickly. “I appreciate your fervor, but I’m concerned about the effects this subject might have upon my Kit.” Christopher leans back against the Governor for comfort. 

“My apologies, Governor Swann.” Lieutenant Pontmercy leaves them alone with a polite nod. Once he’s gone, Christopher addresses the Governor eagerly. 

“Actually, I find it all quite fascinating.”  
  
The older man looks down at Christopher, face pinched and voice apprehensive. “Yes, that’s what concerns me.”

Christopher feels almost relieved when Governor Carstairs walks away, leaving him with his own thoughts. It saddens him, to think of pirates being killed by Norrington and his men, when they likely haven’t even been doing much wrong. He knew stories of pirate crews being taken down for not much else than just existing, for trying to survive in a world that seemed to favor the rich and oppress the poor. 

Christopher stands alone, as he usually seemed to be doing, watching the water over the side of the ship. His brows furrow when something catches his eye; a parasol, floating on the surface of the water. Christopher follows it as it’s blown around by the wind and the force of the water, smiling to himself, leaning over the edge, using his hands against the ledge to steady himself. When the parasol moves out of sight, Christopher turns his head back to the direction from which it came, to see a new, bigger object. A large piece of wood floats near, but the wood isn’t what makes Christopher’s heart stop. His smile falls from his face. 

Christopher gasps. “Look! A boy! There’s a boy in the water!” 

The crew on deck comes running on his call. They crowd around Christopher, almost pushing him out of the way in their haste to see the boy. 

“Man overboard!” Lieutenant Pontmercy shouts, and the boy is brought up on deck in a flurry of movement Christopher can’t track. Pontmercy kneels beside the boy. “He’s still breathing.” 

From outside the commotion, Mr. Gibbs speaks in an awed voice. “Mary, Mother of God.” 

Some of the crew crowds Mr. Gibbs’ gaze, to the burning ship on the water. Debris floats around it, barrels and crates and other ship essentials. 

“What happened here?” Governor Carstairs asks. 

“It’s most likely the powder magazine,” Lieutenant Pontmercy answers, though he doesn’t sound too confident to Christopher’s ears. “Merchant vessels run heavily armed.”

Silence falls as the crew stares at the damage; lifeboats and furniture, even some lifeless bodies, floating around and away from the ship. It’s a violently somber affair. 

“Lot of good it did them,” Mr. Gibbs speaks up. He looks to Norrington. “Everyone’s thinkin’ it. I’m just sayin’ it.” He stares back at the ship. “Pirates.”

Governor Carstairs scoffs, but it sounds nervous. “There’s no proof of that. It’s probably an accident.”

The conversation falls to the background as Christopher walks over to the boy, giving into his curiosity. He hears Pontmercy call for the captain to be awoken and for someone to launch the lifeboats to investigate the ship. Kit stares down at the boy’s slack face, seemingly mesmerized by him. He barely hears Governor Carstairs stop behind him, motioning for two crew members to move the boy to a more secluded area of the deck. 

“Christopher, I want you to accompany the boy. He’ll be in your charge.” Governor Carstairs glances at the boy and then stares hard into Christopher’s eyes. “Take care of him.”

Christopher nods dutifully. He kneels beside the boy as the men row out on the lifeboats. The boy looks to be about Christopher’s own age, with dark black hair and long, lanky limbs. Even laying down Christopher can tell he’s taller than himself. He’s entranced by him. Christopher reaches out, pushing a wet piece of hair from his face. The boy, surprisingly, flinches awake. He grabs Christopher’s wrist, startling him, making him suck in a sharp breath. But he quickly calms when he sees the boy’s scared face. His eyes flit around nervously, never meeting Christopher’s. He notices how gray and steely the boy’s eyes are, almost silver. _How beautiful._

“It’s okay,” Christopher says, but it almost feels like a lie. What if the boy’s family was on that ship? Would they survive? He decides to move on with the introduction. “I’m Kit Herondale.”

The boy continues panting, but his eyes have stilled, resting somewhere around Christopher’s nose. “Ty Blackthorn,” he offers. 

_Ty._ “I’m watching over you, Ty,” Christopher reassures him. Ty doesn’t speak any longer, falling back to sleep as quickly as he had awoken, his hand falling off Christopher’s wrist. He stays where he is, kneeling beside Ty, watching his sleeping form. His thin chest rises and falls steadily, a bit shallowly, but nothing to be too worried about. 

As Christopher searches his body for any injuries -other than the scrape on his temple and the long but shallow cut on his forearm- he notices a bit of gold gleaming near his throat. A chain. Christopher follows the chain down until it ends at a small gold medallion. 

As carefully as he can, Christopher picks it up from around Ty’s neck, and studies the medallion closer. It’s elegantly engraved with small patterns and markings, the main decoration a skull and crossbones right in the center. As he stares, his eyes widen in realization. 

“You’re a pirate,” Christopher says uselessly to the sleeping boy. Before he can say anything more, Christopher is startled by a voice behind him. 

“Has he said anything?” Lieutenant Pontmercy asks. Christopher panics momentarily, almost telling him about the medallion. But with a sinking heart he remembers what the Lieutenant said earlier. _I intend to see to it that any man who sails under a pirate flag or wears a pirate brand gets what he deserves. A short drop and a sudden stop._

Christopher quickly stands to face Pontmercy, hiding the medallion behind his back. “His name is Ty Blackthorn,” he says quickly. “That’s all I found out.” 

Lieutenant Pontmercy nods, then addresses the men behind him. “Take him below.” 

After they’re gone, Christopher finds the most secluded area of the deck he can -near the edge of the ship- and pulls out the medallion. He’s so focused on studying it, he almost doesn’t see the ship emerging from the thick fog on the horizon. It’s completely black, including shredded sails. Christopher holds his breath at the flag they’re flying; a skull and crossbones, the latter of which are replaced with swords. 

Christopher squeezes his eyes shut, taking deep breaths, counting to ten, and… 

He woke up in his bed. 

Kit’s eyes rolled around his dark room as he breathed hard, separating himself from the memory from eight years ago. He laid there for a moment, catching his breath, before pushing himself from the bed and grabbing the oil lamp from the bedside. He walked to his desk and opened the very first drawer. He pulled out his journals and papers, reaching to the back and pushing up the false bottom he installed when he first came to Port Royal. 

He didn’t have much in it, as he didn’t have many things to hide. Since becoming the governor’s only son, he didn’t have the luxury of time -or privacy- to engage in any illicit activities. Besides, there weren't many places in Port Royal to buy anything particularly interesting and perhaps illegal. The only Shadow Market Kit knew of was back in Tortuga, and the few magical beings in the port weren't in the business of selling, buying or trading anything potentially criminalizing. 

No, the only thing Kit kept in the false bottom was the precious necklace; the medallion. He picked it up gently and let it hang for a moment from his fingers, glinting in the light from the lamp. Kit dropped it over his head, letting it fall in place on his chest. In the mirror, Kit looked pale and drawn from lack of sleep, all the time he spent reading and dreaming and worrying taking its toll on his appearance. But the medallion looked right at home on his chest, like a little puzzle piece clicking into place. 

There were times he felt guilty for taking it without Ty’s knowing, that day when they first met. So guilty he felt he needed to jump up from what he was doing right that second and run to the blacksmiths, and beg for Ty’s forgiveness. But Kit also liked having the medallion with him, having a piece of Ty with him when the actual Ty couldn't be there to stand beside him. 

Kit was jolted out of his thoughts by a knock on the door. 

“Christopher?” His father called from the other side of the door. He knocked again, and the noise seemed to kick Kit into action. He dove for his dressing gown on the bed, knocking over a chair in his haste. 

“Are you all right?” His father called again. Kit forgot to answer, distracted with his gown. “Are you decent?”

“Yes.” As the doorknob turned, Kit remembered the medallion he was still wearing. Panicking, he dropped it down his nightshirt, then wrapped the dressing gown about himself, hiding most of the evidence. “Yes!” he said, a little louder. 

Flanked by maids, his father strolled in the door. “Still abed at this hour?” he laughs. Before Kit could ask what he meant, a maid threw open Kit’s curtains. Kit flinched and grimaced at the sudden light. “Oh, it’s a beautiful day,” his father continued. 

“Somehow I am disinclined to agree,” Kit said, still squinting against the sun. His father sent him a wry smile and a small eye roll. 

Governor James Carstairs wasn’t his real father, apparent from their appearances -Kit’s own bright blue eyes and blonde curls contrasting with his father’s straight dark hair and almost black, slanting eyes. Kit was raised on Tortuga by his birth father Johnny Rook, a conman and part-time pirate, for the first nine years of his life. Johnny had raised Kit to be just like him one day, spending almost everyday at what the people of Tortuga called the Shadow Market, a place where mythical creatures and magical people could gather out of sight from mundanes. By the time he was eight years old, Kit was picking pockets and locks, the pride and joy of his conman father. 

Then his father had died, been murdered by an angry client, right in front of Kit’s own eyes. For a year, with nowhere else to go and no other family, Kit had lived on the streets, using his learned skills to run dangerous errands for the people who did regular business in the Shadow Market. In exchange, they gave him food and shelter. Until one day, when he had mouthed off to the wrong person and got himself into trouble.

It sounded strange to say, but Kit was glad that he was beaten and thrown into the street that night. Because if he hadn’t, that wayward sailor looking for a place to relax for the night wouldn’t have taken pity on him. He had happened upon Kit laying in the street, nose bloodied and ribs bruised, and brought him along for an adventure. The sailor, named Charles, seeked medical help, let him stay with him for the night, then loaded him onto the ship when it was time to leave. As it turned out, Kit had landed himself on a Royal Navy ship. 

They let him stay on the ship -a kindness Kit will forever be grateful for- at first just letting him heal, then giving him simple, sparse little chores to do, like helping with kitchen duties or learning about seamanship and sailing. When they found out that Kit had been teaching himself how to read and write for most of his life, some of them took the time to give him daily lessons, finding that he had surprising skill for someone who taught himself. The whole crew -both lower and higher up- had a soft spot for little Christopher. He was shockingly witty, for a ten year-old, and effortlessly charming, but also hard-working and eager to please. The crew found he had a habit of swiping tiny, unimportant things off their persons, only to return them with sweet hand-written notes. 

The one person who took the most liking to Kit was Governor Carstairs and his wife Tessa. Jem had stayed with Kit the most when he was still healing from his injuries, giving him assistance walking when he needed it and bringing their food to Kit’s bed so he didn’t over-exert himself. Tessa had been Kit’s main tutor, giving him an extra journal to practice in and books to read. When Kit had had nightmares, Jem had somehow ended up curled around Kit in his bed, protectively, like Kit’s birth father never did. Shortly after they had arrived in Port Royal, Tessa had given birth to a little girl named Mina. Somewhere along the way, Kit was adopted into their little family, and the rest was history. 

“I have a gift for you,” Jem said, smiling widely at Kit. A maid appeared, carrying a large box in her arms. Jem lifted the top off, and Kit moved to see what was inside, exhaling softly when he saw it. 

“Oh, it’s beautiful,” Kit replied wistfully. The outfit was silky against his fingers when he lifted it from the box. Kit admired it; a light off-white shirt and the corset a soft lavender fabric that was covered in tiny embroidered patterns. With it came a coat the same color as the shirt. As Kit rubbed his fingers over the fabric, a sneaking suspicion came over his mind, along with the thought of a very _particular_ person. He turned to squint at his father. “May I inquire as to the occasion?” 

His father dawned a look of mock-offense. “Does a father need an occasion to dote upon his son?” He smiled at Kit, raising an eyebrow playfully. Kit rolled his eyes, but smiled in return. The maids followed him behind the folding screen in the corner of his room, and as Kit began removing his dressing gown and nightclothes, he listened to Jem speak from the other side of the screen. 

“Actually, I…” Jem paused, then sighed. “I had hoped you’d wear it to the ceremony today.”

Kit flung his nightclothes up to drape over the top of the folding screen. “The ceremony?” he asked, half-distracted as he pulled on new undergarments , the maids turned politely away. The words rang a bell somewhere in his head, and he knew he was forgetting something important. The maids slipped the corset on his torso, and quickly started lacing the back. 

He had almost forgotten about the mention of any ceremony until his father spoke again. “Captain Pontmercy’s promotion ceremony.” 

Kit whipped his head around and out from behind the screen. He gave Jem an accusing look. “I knew it.” There he was, that _particular person._ Captain James Pontmercy. Jem had been trying to push Kit in his direction for two-and-a-half years, taking Kit to places he knew Captain Pontmercy would be and nudging Kit to engage in conversation with the man. 

“Commodore Pontmercy, as he’s about to become,” added Jem. Kit let his mind wander as the maids tightened the corset. James wasn’t a bad man, per say. He was respectful, brave, and relatively kind. The biggest problem, however, in Kit’s opinion, was his steadfast, decidedly negative opinion of pirates and the like. Kit couldn’t bring himself to agree with a lot of what Pontmercy said, and that was a large source of Kit’s concerns when it came to the man. 

The other, admittedly larger, portion was the issue of his messy, completely inappropriate feelings for Ty.

Kit gasped quietly, jarred from his thoughts by a harsh tug on the laces of the corset. “A fine gentleman, don’t you think?” his father continues. “He fancies you, you know.”

Kit gasped again, louder, and even he couldn’t tell if it was because of the tightening corset, or his father’s words. Although -yeah, a good portion of it was the corset, especially when there was another pull, and he felt something pop from around his hip area. Kit twisted around as best he could to see what the _hell_ she was doing back there. 

“Christopher?” Jem asked. Kit sighed, feeling any anger he held over the ceremony outfit and Pontmercy melt away. How could he possibly stay angry with his father when he was concerned over every damned thing Kit did that was even a bit off? “How’s it coming?”

“It’s difficult to say,” Kit answered between slightly laboured breaths. 

“I hear it’s the latest fashion in London.” Sometimes, Kit thought, his father was the smartest person in the world, with the wisest advice anyone could ever give. But sometimes, his father, bless his soul, could be the most oblivious person in existence.

Kit’s body jerked back and forth as the maid pulled on the corset laces. “Well, people in London must have learnt not to breathe,” Kit snarked back, unable to help himself. He could almost imagine the small smile on Jem’s face. The one he got whenever Kit said something or made a remark that would’ve appalled most parents. Kit put a hand to his chest and took a deep breath against the fabric surrounding his torso. 

Through the haze of suffocation, Kit heard someone new enter his room. He heard the voice of his favorite butler, Edward, address his father. “Milord, you have a visitor.”

Jem gave a brief goodbye, and he followed Edward out the door. The maid tugged cruelly on the corset, and Kit thought, in an overdramatic way that Tessa would laugh at: _At least my father won’t have to be present to witness my death._

**********

Ty had broken a wall sconce. _In the governor’s household._

He had gone over to give Governor Carstairs a sword, that he had made, as a gift to someone he didn’t even _like_ , and he broke something, just because he had gotten bored and couldn’t keep his hands to himself. 

Suddenly, there were footsteps, and in a fit of panic, Ty dropped the sconce-piece, candle and all, into a vase-like object sitting on the floor. He turned just as a butler walked past; he nodded respectfully and Ty returned the gesture, hoping the embarrassment didn’t show on his face. 

“Mr. Blackthorn,” Governor Carstairs greeted from the landing above him. He quickly made his way down the stairs. “Good to see you again.”

Ty gave his best smile. He liked Jem. He was a very kind man, always treated everyone he met with respect and compassion. Ty set down the case that held the sword. “Good day, sir.” He reached for the clasps of the case, deftly undoing them. “I have your order.” He opened the case, revealing the sword. He held it delicately in his hands as he passed it to Governor Carstairs, who pulled it from its scabbard, studying it closely. 

As Governor Carstairs stared admiringly, Ty couldn’t help the swell of pride in his chest, nor the urge to tell the older man all the details. When he had first started his job at the blacksmiths, he had constantly told clients about the weapons he had made, and he never understood why they became angry with him. Later, he realized, with the help of Julian and Livvy, that clients thought Ty believed them to be unintelligent, and he stopped. But Jem never seemed to care, encouraged it even, so Ty never held back. 

“The blade is folded steel,” he said quickly. “That’s gold filigree laid into the handle.” Ty held out his hand politely. “If I may?”

Governor Carstairs passed the sword back to Ty, who balanced it on one finger, close to the guard. “Perfectly balanced,” he said. “The tang is nearly the full width of the blade.” Feeling a spark of confidence, Ty flipped the sword into the air and caught it carefully by the blade and held out the handle to Governor Carstairs. 

Jem laughed. “Impressive,” he said, taking the sword. “Very impressive.” He studied the blade one more time before sliding back into the scabbard. “Commodore Pontmercy is going to be very pleased with this.” Ty set the sword back in its case. 

“Do pass my compliments on to your master,” Governor Carstairs added. Ty paused with his hands on the clasps of the case, freezing for a moment. 

Ty almost confessed, then and there. Almost told Governor Carstairs that it was _him_ that made that sword, it was _Ty_ that slaved over it for hours on end. It would only be fair for him to get the credit. But telling the truth would put his entire family in danger, and put everything Julian had done for them in jeopardy. Ty looked back up at the governor, plastering on his best fake smile. 

“I shall.” Ty closed the last clasp, staring down at the case. “A craftsman is always pleased to hear his work is appreciated.” 

Before Ty can say anything more, footsteps from above interrupted him, and he and Jem look towards the sound. Immediately, Ty’s vision narrowed, focused only on Kit’s form -as it always was- walking down the stairs. He was dressed in a lavender-and-cream outfit, the colors wonderfully off-setting his lightly tanned skin and bringing out his bright blue eyes. His hair looked artfully messy, though it was probably the result of a maid giving up on the job halfway through. He had heard Tessa, Jem’s wife and Kit’s mother, mention more than once how untameable Kit’s curls were. 

From beside him, Ty barely heard Governor Carstairs say, “Christopher, you look absolutely stunning.” But the only thing Ty could focus on was the way Kit smiled at him like he was the most important and delightful thing in the world. 

“Ty,” Kit said, in that sweet, honey-smooth voice of his, and Ty felt like his insides were melting. He simultaneously loved and hated the feeling. “It’s so good to see you.”

The other boy was standing so close that Ty could smell him, his scent; something flowery but not overly feminine, and something just so distinctly _Kit_ , like wood and ocean and books. It was something he remembered from childhood, a scent Kit acquired from so much time spent at the docks and in the library with Tessa. Kit smelled like home to Ty, and with him standing so close, Ty had trouble responding. 

Kit didn’t seem to mind though. “I had a dream about you last night,” he told Ty, and Ty was jerked from his wanderings. He might not have understood very well the double meaning behind things or the little jokes men told to each other about their ‘conquests’, but he could definitely recognize what could be misunderstood about _that_ statement. 

From beside Kit, Governor Carstairs laughed in a shocked manner, raising his eyebrows. “Yes, is that entirely proper for you to-”

“It was about the day we met,” Kit cut his father off, looking up at Ty with expectant eyes. “Do you remember?”

Ty was suddenly brought back to that day, the absolute chaos of it all. The pirates invading and taking everything. The fire and the destruction, the sounds like sharp rocks in his head. Ty had passed out halfway through the battle, had been hit on the head with a fallen beam, and had woken up on a new ship. When he had awoken, his thoughts, surprisingly, hadn’t been of his family and his destroyed ship, or of where he was. Those had all passed through his mind quickly, flitting past like bees. 

All of his attention had been on the boy above him, kneeling beside him. His wrist had been skinny in his hand, delicate like a bird’s wing, and his large blue eyes were shining. His voice was high-pitched and pretty as he introduced himself. _Kit Herondale,_ he had said, but all Ty had been able to think was:

_How beautiful._

When he first saw him, Ty had thought Kit was an angel above him, and Ty had thought, _I don’t think I’d mind dying if this is the one guiding me._ Ty was sure he would never forget that day, when it was the one thing he dreamed about; not nightmares featuring the terror and chaos, but beautiful, heavenly dreams about the boy looking at him with gentle blue eyes, about his words, _I’m watching over you, Ty._

Ty finally seemed to find his voice after a few moments. “How could I ever forget, Mr. Herondale?”

Kit smiled, and somehow managed to make it both unbearably sweet and horribly full of trouble at the same time, and Ty felt his breath catch. “Ty, how many times must I ask you to call me Kit?”

Ty just barely managed to _not_ make a face that Livvy would most _definitely_ make fun of him for. He almost repeated Kit’s name just to taste it out loud on his tongue. But he stopped himself when he remembered that the governor of Port Royal, _Kit’s father_ , was standing right there, watching them. 

“At least once more, Mr. Herondale, as always.” 

Something changed in Kit’s expression, something on his face closing off. Ty wished it would open back up again. 

Oblivious, Governor Carstairs smiled. “There. See? At least the boy here has a sense of propriety.” He made a gesture toward the people waiting for his direction. “Now, we really must be going.” 

“Good day, Mr. Blackthorn.” Kit’s voice was hard and cold, and Ty wondered desperately what he did wrong. 

Jem shuffled Kit toward the front door. “Come along.” 

Ty followed, almost in a trance, watching wistfully as Kit climbed into the carriage. The horses started off, and Ty whispered, just for himself to hear. 

“Good day.” He could see Kit look back at him from the carriage window. Even quieter. He whispered the name he only let himself say in the dead of night. “Kit.” 

He stood on the steps for a long time, not moving until the carriage wasn’t even a speck in the distance. 


End file.
